Heart of Glass
by Ace of Hearts
Summary: She was the sweet, pretty daughter of the Earl of Kent, he was the lusty, dashing son of the Marquess of Wessex. Despite having been engaged since childhood, they soon find out when it comes to love, the heart is as fragile as glass.
1. Part I: England Arc

**March 21st, Victorian England**

The warm, blooming early spring of 1853 marked the year that Lady Katherine Pryde of England got engaged to Lord Lancelot Alvers of Ireland. Lady Katherine was the daughter of the Earl of Kent, descendant of a long and élite line of wealthy and privileged English aristocrats that was rumored to have included Queen Elizabeth somewhere along the way. Not to be outdone, Lord Alvers himself boasted an equally illustrious pedigree, for his ancestors had fought under William of Orange when he'd defeated the Irish Catholics in their home country, and now, centuries later, the Alvers family was still blessed with both the pride and prosperity rewarded to their ancient and loyal forefathers, so that Lord Alvers carried not only his excellent family name but also the title of heir to the Marquess of Wessex as well. 

Lady Katherine and Lord Alvers seemed a perfect match, for they were more or less equal in both wealth and social prominence. They were also exceedingly young on the day their engagement was announced to the entire world, for Lady Katherine, affectionately called Kitty by close family and friends, was merely a child of six years of age, while Lord Alvers, who insisted that nobles and servants alike called him by his shortened nickname of Lance, was only two years older than her. 

* * *

**Ten Years Later...**

"Lady Katherine, oh, Lady Katherine," the chirpy, sweetly childish cadences of a young girl's voice floated down the plushly-carpeted halls of the majestic, Romanesque Revival-style manor house of an estate known as Lockheed, as the thirteen-year-old maid who'd uttered those words pattered swiftly towards a bedroom chamber protected from early morning sunlight by heavy velvet drapes. The young servant girl suddenly stopped before entering the room, carefully placing down the tea tray she'd been carrying and halting briefly before a pair of elegantly carved French doors to adjust her oak-brown ponytails and smooth over the skirts of her grass-green calico dress. Appearing before the youthful and accomplished Lady Katherine of Kent, the sheltered pride and joy of Lockheed, always _did_ make her servants feel somewhat gangling and shabby, and Rahne Sinclair, her thirteen-year-old personal maid, was no exception. 

After Rahne had paused to fuss over her appearance, she picked up the tray that she'd set down by her feet and squared her slender shoulders, before marching into the darkened bedroom and heading directly toward the tall windows to snap open their wine-colored drapes and allow some sunshine inside. Instantly, bright golden rays flooded the once cozily dim room, causing the girl who'd been lying comfortably on her four-post canopy bed to stir and wink her eyes shut against the sudden assault of sunlight, before yawning and burrowing deeper into her nest of blankets and comforters. Her personal maid quickly scooted to her side, apologizing breathlessly, "Sorry, Lady Katherine, but Lord Kent left explicit instructions that you be ready for the house party at Phoenix Hall by no later than eight o' clock." 

Kitty Pryde propped herself up into a sitting position on her bed and stretched, the lace-trimmed sleeves of her creamy white nightdress flowing loosely around her slender arms with each movement. Her charcoal-fringed blue eyes leisurely opened to sweep in a casual glance of her room, a satisfied smile dancing across her lips at the comfort of the familiar and secure sight that greeted her. Kitty was the only daughter of the Earl of Kent, a man who had married as soon as he came into his property on his twenty-first birthday. He had taken as his bride a frailly beautiful Welsh gentlewoman who'd given him two male heirs that had both unfortunately failed to see their third birthdays, as well as a young and surviving daughter as graciously pretty as her mother. Lady Kent soon suffered the same fate as her sons had, when she quietly passed away from tuberculosis six years after her only girl child had been christened. Of her late mother's legacy, the now sixteen-year-old Kitty's only keepsake of Lady Kent was a betrothal to the son of an English marquess currently residing in Ireland--an arrangement meant to honor her mother's final wish--as well as her inheritance of the good lady's fragile beauty. Despite the fact that ten years had gone by since Lady Kent had passed away, her brokenhearted husband had yet to remarry, even though such a long period of time _must_ have healed his pain over his wife's death, most people privately thought. However, while Lord Kent was content to remain single himself, he was more than determined in making sure his only child married, and married well. 

Which was how Kitty found herself being rushed out of bed an hour before she was accustomed to usually waking up, in order that all the details of her appearance could be taken care of long before the lavish social event thrown by Lord John Grey, a fellow holder of earldom and a man whom Kitty's father was most proud to call one of his closest friends. There were other reasons, of course, as to why Lord Kent was so adamant on arriving on time to his good friend's party, the main one being that the ever elusive Lancelot Alvers was rumored to have ventured away from the mist-cloaked green hills of Ireland and had sailed for England at the explicit wishes of his father. The sole purpose of this rumored visit was to attend the ball at the Greys' estate, Phoenix Hall, in order that he may see his future bride for the second time in ten years, and perhaps even marry her right then and there. Lord Kent was only too eager that young Lord Alvers be reminded as to how great a match his daughter would be for the illustrious gentleman, seeing as how in addition to honoring his beloved late wife's wishes, a union between his daughter and the son of one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom would prove to be a tremendously advantageous alliance for the Kents. The fact that the late Lady Kent had specifically chosen Lord Alvers out of a score of other eligible bachelors only served to enhance his already splendid character in the eyes of Kitty's father. 

Kitty placed both legs over the edge of her bed and felt around for her slippers, swiftly easing her feet into them as she stood up and walked over to her window to admire the wide expanse of rose gardens, fragrant jasmine trellises, and carved marble statues stretching before her eyes. A family of larks nesting amidst the trees nearest her bedroom instantly struck up a noisy chorus of chirps and tweets as though to greet their mistress, bringing a smile to her lips before she turned around and faced her personal maid.   
"Rahne," Kitty casually began, moving away from her window and indicating with a brief look that she wasn't interested in her tea so that the little Scottish maid could help her get dressed right away, "have you any interesting news from Phoenix Hall?"   
"Well, the maids have been telling me that the Lady Jean Grey's engagement to Lord Carlisle is to be announced at the ball tonight--although nobody's supposed to know until then, for the family's been very adamant on keeping the betrothal a secret until they choose to reveal it," Rahne began, her consternation over the untouched tea tray being pushed aside for the more important post of disclosing gossip. 

Rahne continued to happily chatter away as she began lacing her mistress into her newest corset, green eyes unwittingly narrowing in concentration as she focused on tightening the delicate whalebone garment around Kitty's already slender waist. As Rahne focused on both reporting servants' gossip and lacing the corset, Kitty silently wondered whether, if Lord Alvers truly were at the ball and not carrying on somewhere in Irish wilderness, a wedding ceremony would smoothly steal the attention away from Lady Jean's engagement. _Either way,_ she decided amusedly to herself, _at least Lord Alvers and I won't have to worry about keeping our betrothal a secret, since it had already been announced a decade ago._ A smile broke out across Kitty's face at the last part of her reflections, and she started to chuckle out loud before a warning pain shooting up from her ribcage quickly changed the sixteen-year-old's laugh into a painful gasp, while she bit down hard on her lower lip to prevent herself from yelping. Good heavens, her corset was being laced tightly today! _Father must really want to reassure Lord Alvers--should he be at the ball--that I truly do have the smallest waist in all of England,_ she thought wryly to herself, wincing as she felt the circumference of her corset tightening an inch further around her already slender waist, before Rahne's deft if somewhat small fingers efficiently tied the stays into place. 

Kitty crossed over to the other side of the room to examine her figure in the full-length mirror, Rahne hastening to follow her light footsteps, collecting dresses and ribbons along the way. The young Scottish maid quickly lowered a flaxen corset cover on her mistress as Kitty herself clasped the waist tapes of her three lacy white petticoats slightly above her hips, before standing still and allowing her maid to help her svelte frame into the seafoam-blue taffeta morning dress that she was to wear to the party. Her three other dresses to be worn over the course of the all-day party--a pale rose crinoline for the afternoon, a jade-green silk dinner dress, and an elaborate gold-and-sapphire-blue gown with swirling festoons of ribbons and flounces, made only a week earlier specifically to be donned for the dancing at the evening ball--were already folded and secured neatly inside a long, flat box, and as Rahne hurriedly went about her task of brushing her mistress's hair, Kitty took the time to scrutinize the image in the mirror with critical blue eyes. 

When her dress-up ritual was finally completed, Kitty's face lit up with a pleased sparkle as she smiled back at her reflection and decided that there wasn't one aspect of her appearance that she didn't like. Granted, she might not quite match the timeless beauty of Lady Jean or the dark sultriness of Lady Wanda, but what she lacked in elegance and glamour she more than made up for with her charming features and uniquely sweet and girlish countenance. And besides, there was no skin whiter than hers, no waist tinier than hers nor hands and feet daintier than hers, in all of England! Her father had often assured her that Lord Alvers would have to be more than idiotic, he'd have to be completely blind as well if he ever decided to even think of marrying somebody else, and now, smiling at her reflection in the tall mirror, Kitty decided to indulge in youthful vanity and agree whole-heartedly with the good earl. 

Kitty giggled in gleeful anticipation of the house party--and of Lord Alvers's reaction once he saw his now grown-up bride-to-be--before the form of Rahne, hovering impatiently somewhere in the background, spoke up disapprovingly, "Lord Kent specifically told me to remind you not to act so giddy and capricious at the Grey party. He said that Lord Alvers most surely won't be impressed by young ladies who act as if they have never been educated in the finer forms of etiquette."   
"You memorized Father's whole speech, didn't you?" Kitty accused lightly, knowing that her maid never troubled herself to speak in such a long-winded and flowery way on her own accord. While Rahne sputtered and insisted that Lord Kent's orders were still his orders and not to be taken lightly, Kitty tuned out the younger girl's words and instead focused on meeting her future husband at the ball--the first time they would have seen each other in ten years. She wondered what he would look like; childish memories provided only a blurry image of a swaggering young boy with unruly dark hair and an impish grin set on an eight-year-old face that was surprisingly tanned considering all the rains and heavy mists that Ireland was famous for. 

The shrill neighs of carriage horses being brought to the side of the house alerted Kitty to the fact that her father was impatient to start the five-mile journey to Phoenix Hall, and the chestnut-haired girl hastened to throw on her favorite cashmere shawl while at the same time step into her satin slippers, struggling with their velvet-ribboned laces before finally securing the dainty little shoes on her feet. Gesturing for Rahne to follow, Kitty hurriedly dashed out of her bedroom and flew down the winding stairs at a very unladylike gait, her young maid struggling to keep up with her furious speed while taking care to not rumple the expensive dresses in their long, white box. After all, it simply wouldn't do for Lady Katherine, daughter of the Earl of Kent, to look like a disheveled fright in wrinkled crinoline when she met her Prince Charming at the ball that evening. 

* * *

The way wills stated it, Lord Lancelot "Lance" Alvers was to become a very well-off man the day he came into his property and inherited the title of Marquess of Wessex. As the sole heir to the Wessex estate, he would rule over not only the entire town of Callaghan in Ireland, built long ago by an ancestor on land that had been a gift from the English king himself, but would also own vast amounts of farmland all over the English and Irish countrysides, as well as a towering Italianate-style house in Dublin and an elegant London mansion of Gothic design. 

In addition to being well-endowed with property and wealth, the eighteen-year-old youth was also possessor of a dashing attractiveness, for he stood well over six feet in height and was chiseled of features and lean of physique, with a sweeping mane of tousled dark hair and an ingrained devilish smirk that gave him the appearance of forever planning a clever hoax or two. Devastatingly handsome and far too affluent for his own good, Lance both used and abused his good looks and wealth: by the time he celebrated his eighteenth birthday, he was already a prominent figure in gambling houses and at fox hunts, possessed an enthusiasm for good liquor that was matched only by his love of powerful horses and beautiful girls, indiscriminately romanced genteel ladies and brazen harlots alike, had fought--and, thankfully, won--innumerable duels as a result of his womanizing ways, would not have been received at most decent homes in England due to his reputation had his father's influence and power not smoothed things out, and on one occasion had almost eloped with a beautiful raven-haired Irish country girl before his father had found out about his secret affair. 

Young, reckless, and fantastically gallant to ladies when it suited his mood, Lance was both a dangerous and romantic figure wherever he went, and distressed matrons inevitably flocked together at the wake of each of his departures to comfort themselves with one thought--that one of these days he would marry Lady Katherine of Kent, and not one of their daughters. Well-bred Lady Katherine, whose sweet but spirited ways and gentle refinement might hopefully tame the lusty, dark-haired Lord Alvers...and perhaps even soften the snapping wildness in his coal-black eyes. Already news had spread like wildfire throughout the entire United Kingdom that Lance Alvers had abandoned his beloved Irish horses and even more beloved Irish lasses, and instead had set sail for England one week earlier, causing worthy dowagers everywhere to gather together and gossip over what this might mean. Most of them would have bet their lives that when and if young Lord Alvers returned from his journey abroad, he would have a lovely and charming wife by his side. 

However, while the matrons' predictions were for the most part correct and Lance _did_ eventually return with a new wife, she didn't exactly turn out to be the young lady that the entire United Kingdom had expected her to be. 

* * *

**_*Author's Note*_**

Terms   
-marquess: otherwise known as marquis; a title of nobility ranking below a duke (who in turn holds the highest rank in Britain)   
-earl: British equivalent of a count, ranking above a viscount and below a marquess   
-crinoline: a hoop skirt   
-William of Orange: an actual historical figure, who fought the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 against James II and put down a rebellion there in the latter's favor; its main significance was that William, a Protestant, vanquished the Catholics in Ireland, which doesn't exactly spell good news if you're an Irish Catholic 

Whew, I hope all my ping-ponging back and forth from titles to names didn't confuse you all, but just to clear things up, Kitty's father is the Earl of Kent, hence why he's referred to as Lord Kent and not Mr. Pryde. Likewise, Lance right now is called Lord Alvers only because the title of marquess hasn't been passed on from father to son yet; only when the current Marquess of Wessex (i.e. Lance's dad) passes away will Lance himself become the new marquess and will then be referred to as the new Lord Wessex instead of Lord Alvers. 

As for the women, since girls like Kitty, Jean, and Wanda were all _born_ into nobility, the title of Lady precedes their _first_ names, as opposed to had they only _married_ into nobility (then they would be called Lady plus their _last_ name--for example, say Kitty was a commoner and not a noblewoman, then if she'd married Lance she'd be known as Lady Wessex, as opposed to Lady Katherine). Also, since nobles had to have proper names instead of casual nicknames (in other words, if Tabby were a member of the nobility, she'd be called by her full name, Lady Tabitha, and _not_ Lady Tabby), I've pretty much decided to use the full names of the _Evolution_ characters--Lady Katherine is Kitty's proper title, but for the sake of avoiding any unnecessary confusion over who the hell Katherine and Lancelot might be, I've decided that the characters will call each other familiarly by their nicknames, and only use their proper titles when referring to one another in front of other people. 

Another thing that the poor ladies have to go through is endure countless wardrobe changes throughout the day--up to six, in some cases--for the Victorians had dresses for everything: morning dresses, ball dresses, evening dresses, tea dresses, dresses to go calling, dresses for receiving guests, etc...Just think of it as a mid-1800's version of a Cher concert! x_x 

And on a final note, the titles themselves (Kent, Carlisle, Wessex, etc.) are all real, existing titles of British nobility...coincidentally, since Grey also happens to be among those titles, at least I won't have to change Jean's name (convenient, ain't it?) 

I guess this wraps up this rambling and, more likely than not, sleep-inducing Author's Note. Sorry about that, but I actually went out and researched Victorian lifestyle and etiquette for this fic, and I had to clear up any confusion that might spring from rituals and titles described in this fic. 


	2. Chapter II

Despite its prim fashions and pedantic rules of etiquette, Victorian aristocracy nevertheless possessed a healthy enthusiasm for personal enjoyment--fairs, theaters, balls, and musicales--that belied its seemingly prudish reputation. The Derby Day Races was a nationwide affair in which members of all classes mixed to witness that sport of kings, and indoor games of whist, bridge, and patience provided a nice alternative for entertainment on those days when the rain fell too hard for a fox hunt or a shooting contest to take place. Naturally, the Greys' house party at Phoenix Hall was held at no less grand a level, and before Lord Kent's carriage had even arrived, the place was already alive with activity. Proud stallions and dainty mares swarmed the driveway, people exchanged warm greetings with friends they'd seen just the previous evening, and lords and ladies exited carefully from their closed carriages and open-top victorias, commanding an air of regal dignity about them wherever they went. Young men in broadcloth suits and starched linen shirts leapt down from their horses, taking with guilty smiles and easy grace their elegant mothers' admonishments over this less-than-refined behavior, while excited girls paraded in groups into the mansion, dressed in bright-as-flower silks and taffetas and bedecked with the finest jewelry in all of the British Empire, pink tea roses tucked into blonde curls and long licorice-black locks swept into elegant chignons. 

Call-outs and silvery peals of laughter were abundant on that particular morning at Phoenix Hall, and it was into this pretty world of fineries and gaiety that Kitty stepped into, her delicately painted Oriental fan held in her hand and a bright smile of greeting on her lips. Lady Jean Grey was the first girl to greet her, the glow of a soon-to-be-bride shining in her blue-green eyes, her luxuriant, shimmering red hair a perfect complement to the pearl-white satin crinoline she wore as her morning dress. Faithfully beside her as always was her soon-to-be-betrothed, Scott Summers, the Marquess of Carlisle, a handsome, dark-haired boy of eighteen who'd known Jean since they were both children. Scott had inherited the title of Lord Carlisle at the tender young age of sixteen, following his parents' sudden demise two years earlier aboard a doomed passenger cruise headed for France. He had known that he would be married to Jean someday even earlier than that, for ever since the two were toddlers, there had been an understanding between the Carlisles and the Greys to unite the two families via a matrimonial alliance.   
"Lady Katherine, I'm so glad you were able to come," Jean greeted with the cordiality of a good hostess, while Scott hastened to add, "Indeed, Lady Katherine; this party wouldn't be quite the same without your presence." Kitty grinned at this polite lie, for she doubted that her "presence" would be easily missed at a social gathering of well over a hundred people, but she nevertheless dipped a quick curtsy and replied sweetly, "That's very kind of you both." 

As other guests soon commanded Jean and Scott's attention and the pair apologetically excused itself from Kitty, the young lady from Kent took the opportunity to wander about and quietly examine her surroundings in a discreet search for Lord Alvers. Most prominent amongst the milling multitude of guests was the silver-haired Duke of York standing with his handsome pair of seventeen-year-old twins, Lord Pietro and Lady Wanda, the former dashing and arrogant with his sweeping mane of platinum-gilt hair that matched his imperious father's, the latter smoky and seductive, glaring in poorly-concealed boredom with blue eyes that peered cat-like from under midnight-colored bangs. A more different pair than those two couldn't be found, for the suave and narcissistic Lord Pietro was a clever gambler, a most sought-after partner in both whist games and at waltzes, a frequent spectator at races, and an infamous libertine in upper-class-society England who was rumored amongst the dowagers of that country to shamelessly frequent the Cremorne Gardens in Chelsea. His twin sister, Lady Wanda, on the other hand, took no such advantages of the decadent lifestyle that being a direct heir to the Duke of York's fortunes offered, and the only aspects of Victorian recreation that she seemed to enjoy were the rougher ones--deer stalking, archery, racing on her fleet-footed mare, and, much to the chagrin of her governess and the distress of her dressmaker, mountaineering whenever she could get away with it. However, while Wanda was always an interesting person to talk to, and while Pietro was far handsomer than he needed to be and a divine dancer, neither of them were Lord Alvers, and Kitty soon moved away after exchanging greetings with the pair and accepting with giggles and pink blushes Pietro's extravagant flirting, her mind made up to find that elusive gentleman from Ireland, wherever he might be. 

At the same time that Kitty was searching for her beau, another girl was distressing over hers, barely avoiding bumping into others on several occasions, too distracted to notice where she was going.   
"Go away," the burgundy-haired, ill-humored Rogue snapped grouchily to a servant offering her a tray of gourmet finger sandwiches, but her olive-green eyes showed more anxiety than aggressiveness, and after a while she forgot that she'd been unreasonably rude to another and sighed and clutched at a folded letter which she'd been wearing on a chain around her neck for the past three days. 

Rogue had been born Lady Marie of Layiton seventeen years earlier, but when her mother tragically passed away shortly after childbirth, the devastated Lord Layiton had decided that England held too many painful memories to be endured any longer. America in the mid-1840's had been booming with prosperity, what with Manifest Destiny sweeping the nation and King Cotton ruling the world, and that was exactly where Lord Layiton uprooted his young family. Soon enough, he had established a flourishing cotton plantation in Mississippi, then one of the richest states in the country, and it was in this simple, country environment that little Lady Marie grew up. 

It was also in America that she'd been fastened with the nickname that soon became a part of her identity until even those closest to her had trouble remembering that she had been originally named Marie at her deceased mother's wishes. The re-christening had taken place at a mansion in New Orleans, Louisiana, where the mischievous young son of a man her father was visiting on business had caught her trying to steal a spoonful of ice cream that was being saved for dessert that evening.   
"Remy sees dat you're a pretty lil' English rogue, chérie," he'd told her with the smirking suaveness of a swaggering boy of twelve, and the eight-year-old Marie had quickly withdrawn her spoon from the ice cream upon being caught both red-handed and red-faced.   
"You're a nasty scamp for calling me a rogue; mah name's Marie," she'd bristled in helpless fury, a near-perfect Southern accent belying her English heritage as she spoke, but Remy LeBeau would only smirk in that maddening way, and from that day on, the name Rogue had stuck, whether its new owner liked it or not. 

But from a childhood rival grew a charming beau in her teen years, and Remy had been all set to propose to her on that fateful day of April 18th, 1861, when the attack on Fort Sumter had sparked the powder keg that would explode into the American civil war. Lord Layiton, fearing for his only child's safety, had sent Rogue on a passenger ship to England the very next day. Not long afterwards, her new home announced its neutrality in the war, on the same day that a letter arrived from Remy telling her that he'd decided to enlist in the Confederacy and would soon be joining the regiment of Louisiana's own General P.T. Beauregard. Rogue began wearing each folded new letter from Remy on the slender gold chain that was an heirloom from her mother's side of the family, but the English aristocrats were more lenient than expected to this unrefined habit...amongst other unflattering behavior such as a careless disregard for titles or that awfully provincial Southern accent that even two years of living amongst the finest circles of upper-class English society had failed to erase. After all, the nobles reasoned, she had lived with those unrefined Americans all her life which explained for her lack of interest in titles, she had a sweetheart fighting in a faraway war so naturally she was apprehensive and distracted, and besides, her father had been a mere baron, anyway, so really, nobody ought to expect her to be as refined as Lady Jean Grey, daughter of the Earl of Grey, or Lady Elisabeth Braddock, daughter of the Marquess of St. Andrews. 

Rogue simply turned a deaf ear and a dark scowl to both her critics and her defenders, and continued to move woodenly through parties, silent as a ghost, a worried frown knitted into her eyebrow that seemed to get worse with each new letter from Remy. In some strange way, she had been able to look beyond the rallying cry of "Cotton, Slaves, and States' Rights," and sense all the tribulations of an agrarian nation trying to wage war against an industrial powerhouse, despite Remy's attempts at easing that fear in his letters through his boundless praise for General Beauregard, his jesting, self-important remarks about his own bravery in battle, his joking predictions that by war's end he would emerge a decorated hero, his attempts at laughing off the hardships of life on the front, and, most importantly of all, his repeated reassurances that the war would be over soon enough and he could come for her. 

It was this last letter from him that had left the pale, slender redhead so worried and aggravated. Remy had been injured. A minié ball had taken out his left knee during a brief skirmish with a Union cavalry troop, but before he'd even had time to finish convalescing in a Mississippi military hospital, he'd been drafted into General Pemberley's army to defend the Confederate stronghold of Vicksburg against the advancing forces of Ulysses S. Grant.   
"It looks to be a long and hard battle ahead of us, but our morale is high...for Grant will never succeed at taking Vicksburg, not with Remy holding them back, so don't you worry about a thing, chérie," ran the last line of his latest letter to her, but rather than easing her mind, it had the effect of sending her into a frenzy of anxiety and concern for his safety. Remy injured! Remy injured and soon to go back into battle! Rogue believed in Remy--after all, hadn't he written her two weeks earlier about having been promoted to major following particularly heroic conduct in one battle or another?--but major or not, he would still be re-entering the war with a halfway-healed knee and under a commanding officer whom he'd hardly ever met before Vicksburg. And every Southerner knew that Grant was a butcher, one who would slaughter as many men as it took just to win a battle...and her poor injured Remy would be rushed back to battle to fight against this man, to be used for target practice for the boys in blue. 

Rogue clenched her teeth and tried to wipe a bitter scowl from her features as she glared around at the happy, carefree guests. If only England would join the war on the South's side, surely Remy wouldn't have to rush off to defend Vicksburg then! And besides, England needed cotton...and France too. The whole Western world was in want of cotton, yet none of them was willing to lift one finger to help King Cotton against those meddling, self-righteous Yankees!   
"Is the war going so terribly, Rogue?" a sweet, innocent voice spoke up, snapping Rogue out of her thoughts. The green-eyed girl hastened to rearrange her thunderous scowl into a more pleasing expression in case the voice should belong to the hostess of this party, but soon discovering that it was only Lady Katherine who'd spoken, gave up on putting on any pretenses.   
"Not _too_ terribly, Ah suppose," she conceded irritably, "but Remy, he's...he's...Look, never you mind about mah problems, Kitty. After all, _your_ beau's safe and sound and everybody knows that he'll show up at the ball tonight like some Prince Charming." Despite herself, Kitty felt guilty, both for prying into another's affairs and also somehow for having a betrothed who was safe while another's was in never-ceasing danger of being blown away by a cannonball or taken down by a merciless hail of Union bullets.   
"I'm sorry, Rogue," she stammered awkwardly, trying to sound as sympathetic as possible. But, whenever she thought about Lord Alvers waiting for her somewhere in this manor, she couldn't help but light up the whole room with a bright smile of happy anticipation. 

* * *

However, nine hours and three wardrobe changes later, Kitty's expression had slowly metamorphosed from a happily upbeat smile into a small, disappointed half-frown, for the evening ball had arrived and Lord Alvers was still nowhere in sight. Kitty had entered the ballroom in her brand-new, sapphire-blue watered silk gown and matching velvet dancing slippers, accompanied by a male escort as was appropriate--a nice, handsome German boy named Kurt Wagner who'd introduced himself as the son of the Duke of Strasburg or some other such place. She had danced with her escort first, again as was appropriate, and after going through the steps of the Sir Roger De Coverley and the two waltzes following it, he had smoothly introduced her to her next partner, the way it was expected of male escorts. An endless string of dancing and pleasantries had followed, during which the distracted Kitty had always kept an attentive eye out for anyone who might be the elusive Lord Alvers, but after the first hour of the ball had passed, she had given up hope that he would ever be there, and had excused herself from her current dancing partner by making up a little white lie that she was feeling too faint to dance any longer. Disconsolate and somewhat annoyed that Lord Alvers had chosen those wild Irish over his own betrothed, she had allowed herself to be accompanied across the ballroom and toward the resting area where the chaperones sat, keeping a close eye on the young girls to make sure they didn't get too close with their dancing partners. 

At the same time that Kitty tiredly took her place with the matrons and the chaperones, a late--quite late--arrival to the party appeared beneath the arching doorway of the ballroom. He was a tall, dark-haired youth of eighteen or nineteen, ruggedly handsome with his snapping coal-black eyes and lopsided smirk. Despite being dressed in the most elegant tailored broadcloth suit that money could buy, there still clung to him an air of untamed wildness, a lust for life and adventure that was kept barely concealed beneath a veneer of sweeping debonairness. He bowed a respectful, somewhat apologetic greeting to Lord and Lady Grey, before striding into the room with the self-assuredness of a man who knows he can easily own the room--the entire estate, in fact--should he wish to. His sharp dark eyes easily took in the multitude of extravagantly-dressed girls in one sweeping glance, before settling on the pouting blue eyes and miserable look on the face of a particular girl in sapphire-blue. Something about her made him pause on her rather than going on to the gorgeous redhead in white dancing a few feet away, and he narrowed his eyes in recognition as a grin began to tug on his lips. 

Kitty sighed and rested her chin on the palm of one hand, absently running the fingers of the other one through a loop of satin ribbon adorning her dress.   
"Forgive me, Miss," an amused male voice spoke up from practically right in front of her, making her hasten to correct her posture. A dark-haired young man was grinning down at her when she raised her face to his, before continuing in an accent that was strange to her English-bred ears, "Do forgive me, Miss, because I find it rather strange this English custom of making bonnie lasses--pardon, I meant to say beautiful young ladies, of course--sit on the sidelines at a ball." Kitty snapped up, confusion merging with automatic anger that he might have insulted her coursing through her slender frame. _Why, he just accused me of being a wallflower!_ her mind bristled, as aloud she said in the coldest voice she could muster, "I didn't know my not dancing was so offensive to you, sir." The young man looked as though only a tremendous amount of self-restraint on his part was keeping him from laughing out loud at her remark, before he settled for a simple, "Then please forgive me again, Lady Katherine, for I had been hoping that you would take my words as a compliment." A small part of Kitty wondered how he had known her name, but ingrained courtesy kicked in to wipe away her confusion as she automatically apologized, "I'm sorry for being so rude, sir. I'm afraid my mind was on other things...You see, my betrothed was supposed to be here at the ball tonight, and--" 

As soon as those words had slipped out, Kitty immediately clamped her mouth shut in dismay. What had possessed her to confide such a thing in a total stranger, and one belonging to the opposite sex at that? But as she sat there in mute horror, the stranger gallantly pulled her from her embarrassing situation by saying with a hint of laughter in his voice that the distressed Kitty failed to catch, "He must be a cad, then, for not showing up, and with such a beautiful girl as his betrothed."   
"He _is_ a cad," Kitty agreed heatedly, momentarily forgetting all the lessons of conversation etiquette that her governess had painstakingly instilled in her. "He's an inconsiderate, black-hearted wretch and I can't stand him; why, I wouldn't be surprised if right now he's off consorting with some heathen Irish girls and--" She froze in mid-sentence, as a sudden, horrific realization struck her like a thunderclap. While she'd been venting her frustrations, the young man before her had been wearing a grin that grew wider with each angry word, till at last his features had morphed into an impish expression that held all the familiarity of a face seen long ago. Kitty's hand went up to her slender white neck, dropping her lace-embroidered handkerchief in the process, and as he bent down, still grinning, to solicitously pick up her dropped item, she saw once again how frighteningly familiar his tousled dark hair and swaggering nonchalance was. 

When he offered her handkerchief to her, all Kitty could do was stare dumbly back at his face, making no motion to speak or even accept the embroidered slip of silk until he took one of her small, slender hands and pressed the item into its frozen fingers.   
"By the way, I've realized just now how rude I've been for not introducing myself. Sorry," he drawled languidly as he drew himself to his full height. Grinning down at the petrified girl sitting before him, he told her the name that she already knew all too well. "My name is Lancelot Alvers. Call me Lance, everybody else does." 

* * *

**_*Author's Note*_**

-Manifest Destiny: the belief, largely shared by Americans, that their destiny of expansion into Mexican and Native American territories was obvious   
-Cremorne Gardens: the reason that it's so bad on Pietro's part to being rumored of visiting the gardens often is because after the 1850's, no respectable lady ever went there and the only women who would go were prostitutes, often dressed in flashy clothes and accompanied by rich gentlemen who could afford their "services;" therefore if Pietro frequents the Cremorne Gardens, then it's assumed that he also consorts with these fancy women   
-the Sir Roger De Coverley: a type of dance   
-conversation etiquette: one of the major rules on conversation in those times was to always speak calmly, respectfully, and chastely, and Kitty basically broke that rule by insulting Lance right to his face without even knowing it 

Hey, not bad, an update...and only took me about eight days to do it! Sorry about the wait, I'll try to work faster, but in the meantime, let's clear some things up. First the part about Rogue--I figured it would be pretty strange for a noblewoman to be christened Rogue, so I decided to go with her rather unpopular movie name and called her Lady Marie. But, I thought my explanation for her nickname of Rogue was pretty cute (and don't go bursting my bubble either, I like to think my little loopholes are ingenious, lol). Also, I just _had_ to make her a Southerner in some shape or form, even if she _is_ living in England, so I used the Civil War to get her out of the American South and into Kitty's circle of friends. And as for both her and Remy's accents, forgive me if I hopelessly butcher them, I've never been able to do accents very well. 

And as far as Kurt goes, I really crapped out on that one and have no idea if there is such a title as the Duke of Strasburg. If anyone knows of an actual title of German nobility, let me know and I'll change it to something that actually exists. 

Also, about certain characters' viewpoints in this story, particularly Rogue's on the war and the Northerners and some of Kitty's remarks about the Irish--don't go lynching me, I'm _definitely_ not a rascist, but for the sake of accurately portraying popular beliefs of that time, I kind of had to make some of the Evo people act a bit OOC at times. As for me, I know better than to support oppression and cruelty, whether it's white-to-white or white-to-black; however, keep in mind that this story is supposed to take place in Victorian England, and let's face it, _nobody_ was all that tolerant or open-minded back in those days. 

Last but not least, thank you soooooooooo much to all my wonderful reviewers! I was pleasantly surprised when I saw how many of you enjoyed my fic:   
Firiel11--glad you like all the research about the titles of the nobles and stuff, but I really only glossed over it and left a lot of stuff untouched. Hope you enjoyed this second chapter   
lil--yup, research is definitely scary. My head's still hurting, lol   
cheeky-bear007--really, you've actually been to Kent? That's so cool; plus I'm really glad that at least I made Kitty the lady of a pretty place, and not some toxic waste dump! Sorry to hear about your history class, if it makes you feel any better, I'm suffering through lessons about Carnegie and Rockefeller in mine   
roguelebeaux003--think of this as a romance novel without all the sentimental mush (hopefully!)   
Kitsune Jagan--so glad that you liked _Southern Belle,_ I'll try not to disappoint with this story   
**edit**--I actually _like_ stories that have more description, they really let you picture the whole thing in your head. Does that make me a geek? Sorry I didn't hurry this time, but at least I finally got off my ass and wrote some more   
Icestorm162--thanks a lot, hope you liked this chapter as well   
LadyEvils--well, I really needed a sentence that would sort of provide a crappy cliffhanger for the first chapter, but don't worry about the Lancitty thing--I can't give away too much, but I think this one'll have a happy ending   
Laureate--sorry about not continuing _Tall, Dark, Handsome Stranger_--I got stuck like you won't believe on that one, and I really wanted to finish it, too. I'm really glad you like my period pieces (is that what they're called? Whoops, didn't know, lol), and did you even have to worry about Wanda not making a cameo? After all, she _is_ my favorite Evo chick. As for the Lancitty thing, I hate to sound mysterious, but you'll see ^_^ 

Well, that's it for this time. See you all around for the third installment, in the meantime, please R&R--I really love getting feedback on my stories, especially when they're romance ones because then I can know whether I'm doing a good job with the pairing or whether the fic's spiraling down to Soap Opera Hell! Lol ^_^ 


	3. Chapter III

_Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop,_ sounded the hooves of a coal-black stallion as it trotted with calm pride up an avenue of evergreens that led toward the stately Romanesque Revival-style manor of Lockheed.   
"Whoa," whistled softly the voice of its master as he reined in the handsome horse to a stop, before dismounting in a single graceful leap and strolling leisurely up the steps to knock on the door. A casual flick of his head to toss aside some loose strands of hair was all the attention he paid to his appearance, but his hat was off in an instant the minute he saw that it was a young girl who had answered the door instead of the male butler he'd expected. 

"How may I help you?" Rahne Sinclair asked in a sweetly childlike manner, long years of training reminding her to instinctively greet the stranger with a polite smile. He returned her smile with a lopsided grin of his own, before replying lightly, "I certainly hope so, missy. After all, I _did_ set sail all the way from Dublin just so I could come pay a visit to Lady Katherine--"   
"Ah, yes, of course, you must be the gentleman from Ireland who'll be marrying Lady Ka...um, I mean, who'll be...who is...I mean, you're the...the..." Rahne hastily broke in, a sparkle of remembrance lighting up her grass-green eyes, before the dilemma over how to call this particular gentleman knitted a distressed frown into her brows. Flustered, she finished guiltily, "You must be Mr. Alvers...er, Lord Alvers...Marquess Wessex...?" Her voice trailed off and a blush of embarrassment crept up her neck and stealthily made its way up to her cheeks, while her guest calmly corrected her with a hint of amused laughter in his voice, "Lance will be just fine, little girl."   
"Of course, Lord...um, Lance," Rahne answered uncertainly, as she held the door open wider so that he might step inside. "If you wouldn't mind waiting for a few minutes, I'll go upstairs and inform Lady Katherine that you're here." Lance gave no answer as he made himself at home in the parlor, drawing up his long legs out of habit onto the delicately embroidered surface of a beautifully carved, mahogany-framed sofa. A dismayed look swept over Rahne's face that the dashing visitor had just plopped his feet down on Lord Kent's favorite brocade seat; however, since it wasn't in a servant's place to reprove a member of the nobility, the thirteen-year-old girl swallowed any protests and quietly pattered up the winding stairs toward Kitty's room. 

Safely concealed inside her own room, Kitty was trying fruitlessly to crochet an intricate heart-and-flowers design onto an overstuffed velvet pillow, but try as she might, the sixteen-year-old couldn't concentrate on her delicate embroidery, and her small fingers were already pink with numerous bruises and prick marks. Twice already she had resisted the temptation of giving up and flinging the pillow against the wall, and twice the memory that had stopped her from doing so made her writhe with shame. Even though it had already been two days since the party at Phoenix Hall, the embarrassment over her behavior in front of her betrothed still burned red-hot as though it were fresh. How could she have insulted the man! And right to his face, too! Of course, if Lord Alvers had been a true gentleman, he'd never have goaded those caustic words out of her...and then have had the gall to laugh at her humiliation afterwards.   
"Ouch!" Kitty suddenly cried out, the sharp pain of her needle piercing into her slender index finger snapping her out of her thoughts. On an impulse, she tore off her embroidery and raised the hurt finger upwards into her mouth, a thunderous scowl in her sky-blue eyes indicating all the angry, unladylike thoughts rushing in her head. 

It was Rahne's timid knock on her double doors that brought Kitty out of her reflections, and as the young Scottish maid started to speak, her mistress hastily went about on smoothing her features into a more pleasantly demure image.   
"Lady Katherine?" Rahne asked tentatively, her voice sounding tiny and muffled from the other side of the heavy French doors.   
"You may come in, Rahne," Kitty instructed in what she hoped was a normal, amiable tone of voice, waiting charitably through the short interval it took for Rahne to turn the doorknobs and step inside the room.   
"Lady Katherine, you have a visitor downstairs," the young maid spoke up, causing Kitty's slender eyebrows to slant together in confusion.   
"A visitor? I don't recall receiving any calling cards lately," she mused out loud, silently running through her mind all the possible identities of this mystery guest. Perhaps it was Jean, over to gush about her recent engagement to Scott...or maybe it was the Maximoff twins...and Rogue was a long shot, seeing as how lately she was concerned only with news about Remy LeBeau and the ongoing siege at Vicksburg.   
"It's Lord Lance...oh, excuse me, I meant to say that it's Lord Alvers who's come to call on you, Lady Katherine," Rahne explained, a flustered look on her face as she floundered over the name of her mistress's betrothed. 

A loud gasp exploded from Kitty's mouth in a whoosh of violently rushing air, while the distraught girl sank into the nearest bentwood chair as the full impact of the unexpected news seeped in. Lance Alvers! Here! Today! She couldn't possibly face him, ever again, couldn't ever look him in the eye after that night at the ball when she'd called him a cad and a black-hearted wretch to his face! The additional brief moments with him, while her father was making the appropriate re-introductions, had been pure agony, and if Kitty hadn't run away and escaped back to Lockheed after ten or fifteen minutes of secret chagrin, she doubted she would have been able to get through the evening without screaming. 

Kitty heaved a tired sigh from her fetal position on the papier-mâché seat, resting her face in the palms of her hands and disregarding the fact that she was crushing the voluminous skirts of her pretty watered-silk dress with her careless sitting position.   
"I'll die of shame if I have to see him again," she muttered to herself, and at Rahne's curious look, hurriedly explained out loud, "Tell Lord Alvers that...that I'm terribly sorry, but I can't come down right now because I'm not feeling very well." Technically, that was true, too--a dull headache had already begun throbbing at her temples. Rahne paused uncertainly at the doors, consternation evident on her face.   
"But Lady Katherine, you're not sick--" she started to protest in a tiny voice.   
"Tell him I have the fever!" Kitty interrupted crossly, causing the younger girl to jump back in alarm at the sudden change of tone in her mistress's voice. Kitty instantly felt guilt wash over her, and hastened to add in a kinder voice, "Please, Rahne, tell Lord Alvers that I'm ill and I can't go downstairs today..." Her voice trailed off, before she squared her shoulders and added on an impulse, "But tell him I'll return his call as soon as I get better. That's a promise." Rahne still stood doubtfully at the doors, before finally nodding obediently and setting off with a quiet, respectful adieu of, "Yes, Lady Katherine." 

Lance was still lounging around in the parlor--and, much to Rahne's consternation, his booted feet were still resting indolently against the expensive brocade material of Lord Kent's favorite sofa--when the brown-haired maid pattered back downstairs after her brief conversation with Kitty. Clearing her throat shyly to get the young man's attention, Rahne proceeded to speak while steadfastly avoiding his piercing dark eyes, "Uh, Lady Katherine sends her deepest regrets, Lord Alvers--I mean, Lord Lance...or..."   
"Just Lance," came the laconic reply, as the owner of those words dropped his legs from his brocade seat and drew himself to his full height, towering with ease over the substantially smaller Rahne. "What's wrong with her?"   
"She's terribly ill, sir," Rahne squeaked back, and if the nervousness in her voice didn't give away the fact that she was lying, then the sudden blush which crept up her neck more than finished the job.   
"It's rather strange for a girl of Lady Katherine's spirit to have taken ill so unexpectedly," Lance replied with a knowing smirk, putting devilish emphasis on the word 'spirit.' "I'm sure she can't be so "terribly ill" that she's unable to see me. Go up to your mistress and tell her that I won't take no for an answer."   
"But...but she can't see you," Rahne protested awkwardly. "She told me to regrettably inform you that she has the fever, but she'll return her call as soon as she gets better." Lance made no motion to reply, only continued to stand there with a sly smirk growing by the minute on his lips. Finally, as Rahne was beginning to work up the courage to spin another fanciful lie, Lance cut her off by placing his hat back onto his head and turning on his heels as if to exit.   
"Well, then, I certainly won't be responsible for disturbing a girl on her sickbed," Lance humored with an odd grin, much to Rahne's relief. "If you'll excuse me, missy, I'll be taking my leave now." 

Five minutes after the reassuring sounds of the front doors opening and closing had announced Lance's departure, Kitty stood up and dully went back to the chair she'd occupied while engaged in her ill-fated crocheting attempt. Picking up the delicate embroidery, she absently ran her fingers over the rich, dark velvet, before heaving a small sigh and quietly returning the pillow to her canopy bed. She threw a hasty glance at her mirror to make sure that her crinoline hadn't been crushed too badly, then made her way across the bedroom, tucking away an astray lock of coffee-colored hair when she reached her window. Slowly, with a faraway frown in her eyes, Kitty pushed aside the fluttering lace under-curtains and heavier peacock-blue drapes in order to slide the heavy glass panes open and let some fresh air inside. _Well, I suppose I've succeeded in avoiding him--at least for today,_ she thought with a small, wry smile to herself, _but I wonder how long I can keep on avoiding him like this?_ Kitty took a deep breath--or as deep a breath as her tightly-laced corset would let her take--and closed her eyes, silently enjoying the sweet melodies of lively songbirds and the fragrance of the milky-white jasmines that grew on trellises outside her window.   
"Oh, I won't drive myself crazy by thinking about that," she murmured to herself. "I should just be thankful I was able to avoid him this time." 

A low chuckle answering those words sent her eyes flying open, and the poor girl nearly screamed in shocked horror when she heard a male voice speak up teasingly from virtually right in front of her face, "I'm hurt you should feel this way about me, my fair lady. Is my--how did you put it two nights ago? My heathen Irishness, was it?--really that detestable for your delicate English ways?" Kitty stared with eyes that were as wide as china-blue saucers at the grinning visage of Lance Alvers, disbelieving the sight that stretched before her. This couldn't be! How could that man have scaled up her windows without anybody noticing?   
"L-l-lord Alvers," she sputtered, and then, to hide her flaming cheeks, hurriedly dipped down in a flustered curtsy while asking in a voice that shook, "How did you get up here?"   
"I climbed up the trellises, of course," Lance replied offhandedly, indicating with his casual tone of voice that he thought such an action to be the most natural one in the world. Clearly upset, Kitty struggled for a reply and ended up admonishing timidly, "You shouldn't be up here, Lord Alvers. It's--it's scandalous and completely unacceptable behavior...Why, I don't think this kind of action would be appropriate even with--with the--"   
"Even with the wild, heathen girls of Ireland, you mean?" Lance mocked, causing Kitty to blush even further and weakly defend herself, "I never meant what I said by that, Lord Alvers. I was speaking out of anger...anger that _you_ personally spurred from me, I might add." 

Before Lance could throw a playfully flippant comeback at her--and he certainly looked more than happy to do so--the sound of Rahne's voice floated in from the halls.   
"Lady Katherine, it's time for your daily ride already. Should I come in and help you change into your riding habit?" the little Scottish maid asked, causing Kitty's eyes to widen with fear lest the other girl burst into the room and find the dashing heir of Wessex hanging from her bedroom window.   
"Uh...let me think about it for a while, Rahne," Kitty called back hastily in an effort to buy some time, before tuning out Rahne's confused murmur and hissing at Lance, "Please, you must go away. Climb back down and..." Lance was laughing openly at her distress now, and apparently succeeding with offhanded ease in wrenching loose the lid Kitty took to great pains in keeping over her usually mild temper, for in a burst of passion she cried, "Good heavens, you perverse scamp! Get out now before you ruin my reputation!" 

"Lady Katherine?" Rahne's faint voice, breaking into their conversation, was beginning to sound more and more curious as she added, "Are you all right, my lady?"   
"Yes, my fair lady?" Lance echoed mockingly, a mischievous grin curving the side of his mouth. Kitty gave him a sour glance.   
"Oh, hush up," she bit out acidly, not caring that she was breaking rules of etiquette left and right in front of this man who was supposed to be her future husband. Tilting around to the double French doors, she called out in her maid's direction, "Yes, Rahne, I'm fine!" Turning back to face Lance, she added with an imploring note in her voice, "Please, Lord Alvers, I can't--"   
"Just call me Lance," he broke in smoothly. "It's bad enough that for the next couple of months I'll be bogged down with etiquette around these old-fashioned Victorian goats; the last thing I would wish for is to have to uphold some image of refined sophistication around my own wife as well."   
"I am not your wife," Kitty pronounced slowly, concealing with some effort the surprise coursing through her over the way he'd casually entailed that they were already married. Lance shot her an impish wink, causing her to redden slightly over his straightforward behavior.   
"Not yet," he corrected her laughingly, and something about his tone of voice emboldened her and encouraged her to ask daringly, "Are you implying that you've come today to set a wedding date? Because I was hoping that you would have more refinement than to propose while hanging from my bedroom window, my lord."   
"I said no such thing about marrying you right now," Lance whistled innocently, causing Kitty to flush pink and turn away. "Would you like me to?" Kitty nearly fainted at such a proposition.   
"Lord Alvers, I don't wish to continue this conversation any longer," she declared with as much cool dignity as she could muster. "It isn't appropriate, and--" 

"How long do I have to keep bothering you before you'll relent and call me by my given name?" Lance abruptly broke in.   
"But I couldn't," Kitty stammered, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in topic.   
"Why not? Were you expecting me to wait several years before I'd have the audacity to call you Katherine...or even Kitty, perhaps?" Lance asked slyly. Call her by the nickname which only a select few of close family and friends were allowed to use! And they'd yet to spend even a day together so far in their lives! Kitty wanted to tell him to stop spewing such inappropriate proposals. She wanted to push him away from her window before he could complicate the situation any further. What came out of her mouth, however, was a daring offer of, "If you promise to call me Kitty only when others aren't around to hear you, then I'll call you Lance under those same conditions." 

A triumphant grin was her only response, and for some reason Kitty found herself smiling back as well, before a series of timid knocks on her door brought her mind back to her temporarily forgotten problem at hand, and she turned to Lance and anxiously whispered, "Now, please go...Lance. I can't keep stalling Rahne for long, or she'll suspect that something's wrong." Lance was the picture of devious innocence, before he grinned again to signify his consent.   
"Before I go, however," he whispered back, while Kitty was instructing Rahne to come in after a couple of minutes, "there's something I have to give you that I'd been meaning to ever since I came to England." Kitty's eyes widened in anticipation when she heard those words, and she silently wondered what he could mean. An engagement ring? What else but a ring could he be talking about? After all, he _had_ come all the way from Ireland to marry her this year, hadn't he?   
"Lance, you know it isn't right for a lady to accept jewelry from a gentleman. Unless, of course..." Kitty reproved shyly, letting her voice trail off meaningfully at the end. Lance quirked an eyebrow at her when he heard those words.   
"Who said anything about jewelry?" he demanded, adding teasingly, "I thought I'd already told you that I hadn't come here armed with a ring and ready to drop on one knee and spout some romantic proposal--at least not today--didn't I? Terribly sorry for breaking your hopes and dreams for the second time." 

Kitty huffed insultedly at the mocking tone in his voice, but before she could get a good pout going, Lance swiftly produced a slender bunch of delicate, pressed white-and-pink flowers set in green, bell-shaped leaves.   
"Why...they're beautiful," she gasped softly, accepting the pressed flowers and bringing them up close to admire each delicate blossom in its leafy encasement. "I don't think I've ever seen them before, though."   
"They're called bells-of-Ireland," Lance explained, and despite himself, an obviously pleased smile lit up his face at Kitty's reaction to his gift. "I figured you've probably gotten more than enough roses and tulips from every young man in England, so I made sure to get you something a little more unique." A delighted smile dimpled Kitty's cheeks, before she turned her attention back to Lance and murmured, "Thank you, Lance. They _almost_ make up for your meanness over the ring." A flash of false disappointment raced across Lance's features, and he questioned with playful impudence, "What? Is that all I get, a trifling little speech? Won't you at least grace your future husband with a thank-you kiss?" Kitty's cheeks flushed pink at those forthright words, and she clutched her bells-of-Ireland to her heart while stifling a giggle before embarrasedly pushing Lance in the chest with a cry of, "Oh, Lance, you're terrible!" 

She had never meant to push him so hard. She'd thought it would come out only as a delicate, feminine little tap. And besides, how in the world was she supposed to know that Lance had been hanging so precariously on the jasmine trellises by her window? But as a startled, masculine cry slashed through the air and Rahne finally burst into the room with an uncertain look on her face and a basic apology ready on her lips, the sixteen-year-old Kitty was seen leaning distressedly over her window, a chagrined look splashed over her features as she apparently gazed at some sight tangled in the showy azalea bushes below. 

* * *

**_*Author's Note*_**

Terms   
bells-of-Ireland: just like it says in the story, these are pretty white-and-pink flowers surrounded by large, green leaves that really _do_ look like little bells. I'm not sure whether they're native to Ireland or not (I toyed around with the idea of Lance giving Kitty a four-leaf clover, but then I thought it might be a bit cliché and silly, so I scrapped it), but I _do_ know that, according to my reference sheet on the Victorians' meanings of flowers and herbs, bells-of-Ireland are supposed to signify whimsy, which I thought would be rather fitting, since eventually under Lance's influence, Kitty would become more whimsical and daring and less prim and sedate. 

Ack, I can't believe how ridiculously long it's taken me to finally write this chapter, and I'm soooooooo incredibly sorry for making everybody wait nearly two weeks for the third installment of this story! _Heart of Glass_ is turning out to be a bigger challenge to write than I'd initially thought it would be, for not only do I have to work out each chapter's plot while trying to keep all the Evo people as in character as possible and yet distinctly Victorian at the same time, but I also find myself pausing and referring to all my bookmarked webpages on 1860's English upper-class society after practically every damn paragraph. Throw in a really hectic week in which all my teachers keep cramming as many tests and essays before the Christmas holidays as they can, and we've got one incredibly late update. 

As this fic stands, right now I don't know how long it will take me to write the fourth chapter--I'll try to hammer as much of it out as I can over the holidays, but, after all, us authoresses _do_ have _some_ semblance of a life, and since it's Christmas and I'll be getting my _Pirates of the Caribbean _DVD this weekend, expect me to go into useless giddy mode pretty soon. I'll try to at least have the next chapter up before New Year's, and if I don't, then you can pelt me with rotten fruit(cakes) or something, lol. 

Not many terms or historical footnotes this time, most of the chapter was comprised of conversation, so sorry, no nifty trivia today, which means I'll just get straight to the best part--thanking the reviewers! *Drumroll* 

Icestorm162--thanks so much, nobody's called me an artist before. Wow, guess I'll be a walking egomaniac for the next couple of weeks, lol. I'm really glad you liked the way I explained Rogue's nickname--I figured she might need a loophole here; after all, it'd be kind of strange for the daughter of a baron to be essentially christened "Thief" or "Scoundrel." Yikes! ^_^   
LadyEvils--well, if Kitty'd kept her mouth shut, then it'd be no fun. I mean, granted she's no Wanda, but still she sort of gets to speak her mind in this fic--at least when she's really pissed about being stood up, anyway! Thanks for the info about Kurt's dad, I've really got to start getting to know my fuzzy blue elf's lineage better!   
Sarah--yup, Lance as Lancelot, lol! I actually toyed around with the idea of Lance being made a knight by Queen Victoria for some brave deed or another, and then everybody would have to call him Sir Lancelot, but I figured that would be too far-fetched and ludicrous, so I settled for making him a marquess's son instead.   
Risty--thank you sooooooo much for all that helpful info on everybody's favorite fuzzy blue dude! Guess now he could be related to the Herzog Bavaria or something...although really, we just got this big box of Bavarian chocolates for an early Christmas treat, so now for some reason every time I think of Kurt as the duke of Bavaria, I keep picturing a blue Willy Wonka! -_-   
Firiel11--aw, thanks so much, you're fabulous for liking my stories and being so nice about it, lol. I'm really grateful that you think so highly of my historical fiction, especially because I'm still pathetically new when it comes to writing these types of stories, and I'm always nervous about making some sort of goofy mistake (you know, like writing in that the characters were traveling by train when the Industrial Revolution hadn't even happened yet, or something stupid like that). Hey, since you're good at history, feel free to point out those kinds of mistakes in _Heart of Glass_--I'm really trying to make it as authentic as possible.   
Linda Keene--well, I guess it feels earlier than Civil War because there's no mention of any 1860's technology, like cannons and trains and all that stuff. But, then again, England isn't at war to begin with, and since ladies of the nobility weren't likely to have visited any cannon factories or textile mills, I couldn't really find an appropriate way to incorporate a Civil War feel to it. I realize that there's a pitiful amount of dialogue in the first couple of chapters, so I hope you liked all the gabbling back and forth in this one.   
tom--personally, I adore writing Wanda as well, and I always tend to make her the nonconformist in these types of historical stories--like, if they're in the antebellum South, then she's the anti-Southern belle, and right here in Victorian England, Wanda's the girl who'd much rather be at a hunt or climb a mountain than sit around sipping tea and gossipping over who's marrying who. Personally, though, I'm much more of a Wanda/St. John and, oddly enough, Wanda/Lance fan, so sorry about the Todd thing. I'll see if I can incorporate him into the fic, anyway--maybe he can be a hermit she encounters while on one of her mountaineering trips, lol. Just kidding, I know better than to make the tadpole a hermit! ^_^   
Kitsune Jagan--hey, glad to know all the descriptions and research are appreciated; see, when I first started writing this story, I had even less of a clue about Victorian England than probably anybody else, so I figured that it would be no fun exposing my ignorance for all of the FF.net community to laugh at, and forced my lazy butt to do some research (one site's wonderfully informative, actually, and I use it almost exclusively for all my research; plus, they've got these gorgeous pictures of Victorian dresses which were surprisingly pretty). I love Romys, too--I mean, hell, it'd be impossible _not_ to love them, and just when we were getting used to the Scogues and Rietros and whatever other pairings, in waltzes Remy (with a yucky goatee and bowl-cut, too, I might add; if I bring Remy to England, he'll be coming sans goatee and with long hair, so nyah, Evo animators! lol) and the Ragin' Cajun instantly becomes Rogue's new guy. Good luck on your midterms, and you're right, essays are definitely hateful--I had to write _two_ on Frederick Douglass before December was even halfway over!   
Laureate--aw, well Lance and Kitty are an adorable couple to write about, so it wasn't that hard. Thanks for the vote of confidence on the soap opera thing--when I start spinning Who's-the-daddy? and Who-cheated-on-whom? storylines is when we all have to watch out for, I guess. And yeah, the Wanda thing with me has always been that she fits in enough with what society expects of her as a woman, but still finds ways to bend the rules and kick some serious ass!   
Guidi--thanks a ton for the Kurt thing, kind of makes me feel sheepish for being too lazy to dig up any info on German nobility, especially when it's obvious that there are people out there who know this kind of stuff. I think I'll use Duke of Strathearn, since it's closer to what I originally put; plus, whenever I think Salzburg, I'll be having Kurt running around singing, "The hills are aliiiiiiiiiive..." (sorry, got a bit carried away there with the whole _Sound of Music_ bad joke, oops). Hope you liked this chapter as well.   
Monkeystarz--hey, go easy on the hugging--you can send the story into a hug-induced coma, but if it dies, then I'll be way too lazy to resuscitate it. Sorry, bad joke. I seem to be brimming with them tonight. Anyway, I sent you the e-mail (hope you got it), and next time, if you really want notifications, you can just go to your Author Alert and follow their instructions to get this story on a sort of waiting list (I'm not sure, I haven't tried it yet, but how hard can it be, right?)   
**edit**--sorry I didn't hurry, but at least I made it, right? On a side note, of course I know _Return of the King_ came out on Wednesday; people were practically yelling all around me about how cool it was and how awesome the ending was and nearly spoiling the whole movie for those of us who decided not to see it the day it came out unless we were willing to get trampled by the crowds fighting for precious tickets. As for the Romy thing, I can't give away too much, but Rogue and Remy's relationship will _definitely_ play an important role in the future, and as for my other Lancitty *cringes and ducks head* heh heh, I'd been kind of hoping people would forget about that--see, I got stuck on that story after Chapter Four, and right now I'm too lazy and braindead to return to it. Maybe after _Heart of Glass_ is finished. Maybe. 

And that's another installment of _Heart of Glass,_ finally completed. Hope you all enjoyed it, and please review--they are what inspire me to keep writing ^_^ Toodlong 


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